


Speechless

by colourpencillskity



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Jason being creepy, and having vocal chords that wont function when Reyna's around, artistic! Jason, mixed martial arts! Reyna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:11:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2471081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourpencillskity/pseuds/colourpencillskity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Reyna trains at the same mixed-martial arts studio as Thalia and Jason is the student artist who can't stop drawing her. Alternately, the one where Jason can't seem to get his vocal cords to work. College AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speechless

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Wow. I haven't updated something in like two years. This was a bit of a story I had going back in the day, but never bothered finishing. I miss writing for the PJO fandom. Here goes.

"My name's—Grace. Grace, yeah. That's – That's what it was."

An unimpressed look.

"I hope that your apparent lack of intelligence hasn't hindered your ability to remember your own name." "Oh—oh yeah. Um…my first name…" A pause and a nervous laugh.

"It's…um…starts with a 'J'? I think. I can't seem to remember."

Jason swears it wasn't supposed to go like this.

 

* * *

The first time Jason meets Reyna, his breath catches in his throat, his pencil stutters across the page in a jagged line, and his eyes widen till they burn raw.

It's the curve of her feet first, the almost visible vibration as they strike the air. Then it's the sinewy length of her leg, leading to the gentle hills of her spine, to the hollow curve of her neck, and then suddenly it's her entire form, flowing through the air like a bullet, all straight lines and curves and edges, like a statement, like a _promise_.

Jason's hands are moving before his brain has time to catch up, and his fingers fly across the pages, trying, trying so hard, to even remotely emulate the ephemeral moments as she flies through the air, feet high and arms soaring. The charcoal stains his fingers a deep black, and Jason breathes in and thinks that he's found it. He's found the meaning of life, of art, and of everything. For a moment the world stands still, and in that moment, it crashes down, and Jason has to laugh at how ridiculous he can be.

He's really only here because of the movement, of the human movement to precise. He loves it. He loves capturing the heat of the moment, the speed, the heart pounding intensity. He's tried the streets of Manhattan,  the dance studio down the road, the football and soccer fields, and nothing, absolutely nothing has touched him. His fingers have stuttered and stopped, and he thinks he might have lost what it was to feel. Thalia had recommended the mixed-martial arts studio she goes to, Jason's sudden desperation and lack of motivation in what he loves apparently making him all the more annoying.

It might just be the best thing she's ever done.

* * *

Jason only ever draws her. He doesn't really see an issue in the fact that he doesn't know the first thing about her, because in reality he does. He knows the darks and lights of her skin, the way her limbs bend, the height of her kicks, the degrees of movement in her facial features.

He never speaks to her. Only watches.

Sometimes he imagines their first conversation.

_"Hi. My name's Jason Grace. I like watching you in my free time."_

Because that wouldn't be creepy at all. She talks to Thalia sometimes, usually when they're sparring. Her voice is clear and sharp, but Jason often misses what she says. Jason makes it a point to ask Thalia who she is. He forgets.

When she walks towards the bench on a Tuesday evening, sweat dripping down her face and her perfect braid still, well, perfect, Jason opens his mouth to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a sort of grunt. She looks towards him with a look of expectancy on her face.

"What is it?"

Jason tries to open his mouth again, but all he can really do is become more distracted by the three freckles along the side of her right eye, his inability to catch the brown in her eyes even when he _knows_ black eyes don't really exist, the deep purple of her shorts, and—

A flicker of annoyance passes across her usually blank face, and she walks away with her bag in hand.

Jason rubs his eyes and groans. Could he be any more awkward?

* * *

Jason writes down a potential greeting that night.

_"Hi. My name's Jason Grace. I come here to study human anatomy for art school. I think you're beautiful."_

Jason's eyes widen and he quickly crosses out the last sentence.

* * *

Jason finds himself thinking about her while he's sitting before a canvas in class.

He finds his paintings flooded with the deep violet of her shorts and the golden flash of her earrings.

He finds himself turning his head at every dark haired girl he sees.

Jason's never been so thoroughly enamored in his life.

He's also never felt quite as guilty before. He's hardly even talked to her before, much less gotten to know her name, or her hobbies, or anything really.

Jason isn't usually this nervous. He's actually normally quite confident about himself, with his conventionally attractive face and playful personality, he's fairly skilled at socializing, at flirting, at talking in general.

He really hadn't prepared for being rendered speechless.

* * *

" _Hello, I'm Jason, Thalia's brother. I see you around the mixed martial arts studio. Maybe we could hang out sometime?"_

Jason scoffs at how desperate it all sounds.

* * *

The next time Jason sees her, it's behind a box of tomatoes at the grocery store.

It's strange to see her in anything but a sports bra and a pair of shorts, and Jason feels a little dizzy from the almost relaxed state of her shoulders, the casual clothing that's still as neat and well pressed as everything else she owns. When she walks a bit closer, he contemplates ducking under the cucumbers or running out the door at top speed. She's with someone this time, a woman who looks like an older version of herself, perhaps with an even fiercer expression, and suddenly, she _laughs_ , and Jason can't help the cheeky smile that spreads over his face, or the brief chuckle that passes his lips.

He realizes it's a bit too late when her black eyes suddenly gaze into his, and he nearly stumbles from the force of her gaze.

He raises his hand in an almost-greeting and opens his mouth for a moment, to find that his spit is suddenly lodged in his throat. He coughs, choking on his own saliva, before hurrying away, his face flushing a deep red.

He finds himself in the dairy section. He nearly tries to dump a gallon of milk on his head.

* * *

_"Hi. I'm Jason Grace. I saw you at the grocery store the other day. Do you want a tomato?"_

As if what he was doing wasn't creepy enough.

 

* * *

Jason sits with his charcoal in hand, mapping out the movement of her thighs and calves, the way the muscles bulge and caress the air, when she suddenly pauses and adjusts her hair behind her ear, before rushing over to where a commotion has arisen.

Jason doesn't consider himself a superficial person.

He can identify beauty when he sees it, can embrace it and interpret it on a canvas. He would much rather fall for the person inside than their face, their body.

It's hard to convince himself of that when he watches a perfectly formed fist move through the air, as dark eyes sparkle with fire and limbs tingle with energy.

He worships her movement, her face, her body, her lines, her curves, her edges.

And somewhere along the way, he's become enamored with her.

Perhaps he should reconsider himself.

He turns to investigate the chaos and finds _her_ , lifting a young boy with a slightly swollen cheek off the ground as another apologizes profusely. She smiles kindly at both of them for a moment before catching herself and fixing her stoic gaze on them, the fire in her eyes more a gentle hearth than a fiery blaze. Jason's heart skips a beat. She spends the rest of the session adjusting their stances and correcting their movements, and Jason can't help but try to recapture the moment when her face broke it's icy facade.

* * *

_"Hey, the name's Jason Grace. I draw what I think is beautiful. So, mostly, you."_

Cheeky.

* * *

Jason sits at his bench as usual. He draws her as usual. And he leaves the way he usually leaves.

Except that he doesn't.

Jason grabs his sketches, hugging them against his chest, and walks towards the entrance. And perhaps it was the darkness of the night, the late hour, his own confusion and stupidity, but he decides to walk through the mats, figuring that there aren't many people today, that its somehow safe for him to walk through a group of people basically training to _knock him out_.

It all happens a bit too quickly for him to understand, but in a moment, a boulder has slammed into his head, his brain feels as though its pounding against his skull, and his hands have found the slippery mats of the studio floor.

And then theres hands on him and a concerned, if not slightly angry, voice speaking to him.

"What kind of idiot walks into someone's leg? Especially someone who's sending their leg fifty miles per hour in a fashion thats meant to incapacitate someone. You could have a concussion right now."

Jason can only groan in response as an ice pack is pressed against the side of his head and multiple other people gather around.

He opens his eyes with some effort, and obsidian black ones lock on his in return.

Someone offers to call a doctor and Jason can only nod and gesture vaguely in their direction.

The black-eyed girl helps him up, and Jason can only gape like a fish as she sits him back down on the bench. She gets up without a word, before pausing for a moment as her foot meets one of Jason's papers.

"I-Is that me?"

Jason can't tell what the slight twinge in her voice means. Anger, or slight embarrassment he presumes. He tries to form words. It comes out something like:

"Mmm...ya?"

Eloquent as usual. Though a slight improvement in comparison to his previous attempts.

There's only breathing for a moment before: "They look nice." An awkward silence. She continues. "...Very nice. If I was someone else I might say they were beautiful. Especially for drawings of, well," she looks down."... of me."

Jason looks down at his sketches and tries to thank her. He doesn't. Can't.

She looks at him curiously, like a hawk analyzing its prey.

"You're Thalia's brother aren't you? What was your name again?"

Jason inhales. He thinks of the conversations he's had with her in his mind, the one, the thousands. He looks back at her face for a moment. Thinks about that first time he saw her, about the one jagged line he never bothered to erase.

* * *

" _Hi, I'm Jason Grace. I can't stop thinking about you. You fill the pages of my sketchbook, I think you're perfect. I think the way the corner of your left lip twitches when you're about to smile is adorable. I think the way your eyes burn and your hair swims when you fly through the air is mesmerizing. I think the way you try to help the person you're fighting against, the way your face is chiseled like a Roman queen, the way you kick me in the face- I think its all wonderful. And I think I might love you. Just a little bit_."

* * *

Jason exhales, and words somehow come out.


End file.
